


Loving You

by pumpkinbasket



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Living Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Scottish Cabin, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), The Lonely - Freeform, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:00:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27603146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinbasket/pseuds/pumpkinbasket
Summary: His curls felt as soft as a loose packed shore, his skin smooth like the dancing shimmers on a lake, purple brushed between its Lilly padded ripples.And ever so suddenly, Jon had found his reason.But how could he love somebody he barely even knew?Jon realizes his feelings for Martin on a train ride to the Scottish Highlands.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/ Jonathan Sims
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49





	Loving You

**Author's Note:**

> The title is super cheesy and super gross I KNOW but I’m working with what I have and my brain is EMPTY
> 
> Anyways I thought I’d write a 159-160 fic considering my love for domestic fluff. I’m intending on keeping this short and sweet because I know I’ll lose motivation if I have anything longer than 5 or so chapters. I’m hoping to try and update biweekly! But it may be a bit of a stretch and I may not post another chapter in 3 years… I’ll see how it goes (-: 
> 
> I’ll update tags as I go! I don’t think I’ll end up writing anything that way be too explicit but canon typical angst may be referenced in the future, I’ll add a warning on the authors note if that’s the case. 
> 
> That’s all, have a lovely day <3

They had packed in a hurry, a non-disclosed agreement hushed between their short breaths and anxious glances. The pull of the sea still clung close to them, their skin kissed from sand and ocean salt. Water lodged shoes left lumbering trods of puddles on the creaking floorboards, clothes caked to their skin, weathered hair tapered to their temples. Briny sand scuttled between the soles of their shoes and the gaps along the floor, an echo of wind distant through their ears.

_“Look at me and tell me what you see.”_

_“I really loved you, you know?”_

Static rings inside the ears of the lonely seashell, a blurry recollection of the soft rolling sea, its tide gentle throughout the undulating haze. A verbatim rung throughout Jon’s ears, quiet and still, like a withdrawn underwater humming. 

_“I… I was on my own. I was all on my own”_

_“Not anymore. Come on, let’s go home I know the way.”_

Both of their hands had still remained interlocked, Jon wasn’t sure if Martin had just forgotten that they were still holding hands, or maybe it was the sea salt that kept them together.

* * *

They had held hands the entire train ride up north, Jon’s bird boned fingers laced into place with Martin’s cold reserved clasp. It had only felt natural. Their appearance had made quite an uncanny entrance as they passed through the train doors in a tentative hurry, granting odd looks from passersby and peering eyes from newspaper bespectacled passengers as they scurried throughout the small corridors hand in hand, one behind the other.

They stood awkwardly pressed to the windowed walls of the train from the traffic of mumbling commuters, they stood close to one another to allow entry-way for the travelers to open sliding doors to their respective staterooms. Sand found itself home within the patterned carpet floors. Jon had brushed off as much as he could before they left, but he couldn’t rid himself from all the vestiges of the lonely just yet. It crowded beneath him, dropping down similar to a soft packed shore.

Coils of hair rested like a flurry of storms above Martin’s head. Solid shoulders, a mountain range. Far-away rumbles echoed through the clouds behind his eyes. Lightly squeezing Jon hoped to pass a little bit of his warmth back into Martin’s stone cold hands.

Tippy toeing on the edge of their seat, Jon slid their luggage onto the metal racks above them. Martin sat still in the corner, his forehead had fallen peacefully against the train window, a small red mark pressed just above his eyebrows from where his head had been leaning against the glass. Glancing out Jon couldn’t help but let out an empty sigh of relief as they passed through the London city limits, a little opening of a life without the Archives, a brief momentary tinge of escape.

Jon passed a subdued gaze to their joined hands resting between the gap of the train seat, he had hoped that Martin would catch his eye. But his head remained cleared and eyes empty with fog as he continued his long hollow stare through the window. Jon was left sitting idly beside an unmoving figure. Caught in a tumbling reverie, a vacant worry pressed solemnly between his teeth.

Shuffling over to Martin’s side Jon passed over the awkward space between the seats where an armrest should be, tucking himself silently against his shoulder he quietly longed that his touch would pull Martin out of whatever trance he remained trapped in. But the mountain range beside him didn’t crumble into sand.

Jon was slowly winding through the vertical folds of a seashell, its sculpture finding itself drifting along a tired sea.

* * *

Startled by a jumpy jolt from the train tracks Jon was awoken to rolling hills and far-away towns, accompanied with the small chime of the intercoms and a friendly voice announcing their next location. They had just passed the outskirts of Edinburgh, long grass stretched beyond the horizon and wild roe deer grazed leisurely upon the green plains. Heather covered the hills in a blanket of warm magenta, dappled along the prairies like a personally painted Monet portrait. Lilacs and greens smudged together sleepily, tucked safely together amongst the soft golden hues of grass. The oil painted clouds settled low and gentle over the hills, resting dreamily in the late afternoon. Daylight breached just below the cliffs, its late afternoon sun brushing through the train carriage curtains, the coverlet of the cotton smooth and warm from the glistens of yellow that settled gently onto the fabric. The chill from late October pressed confidently throughout the train, clouding the windows with condensation so Jon had to wipe away a small opening with his tweed wool coat bunched in his fist in order to steal a glance outside.

The glistening sunlight filtered through the windows, sweeping low and tender over the corners of the of tables and chairs, skimming along the walls and chasing the sliding doors of the cabins as the train moved past, quick so peaks of gold flickered through each room fleetingly.

Martin looked soft in his sleep, sunlight tracing his nose and the tops of his cheek and lips like a carefully craved stone statue. Still and quiet Jon had almost expected his brushing fingers to come away with sand as he grazed his granite freckled skin to tuck a loose curl back behind the home of his ear.

Static hummed on Jon’s fingertips, warmth filled his hands and flooded his body, quiet thrumming fluttered throughout his skin. Sun-kissed glints wavered past the curtains, reflecting the heather dappled fields painting Martin’s stone skin lilac, and sea foam washed hair a deep lavender.

His curls felt as soft as a loose packed shore, his skin smooth like the dancing shimmers on a lake, purple brushed between its Lilly padded ripples.

And ever so suddenly, Jon had found his _reason_.

* * *

It was night now, midnight wondering crowded Jon’s each and every breath, exhaling thoughts clouding the cool evening air beside him. The trains gentle rocking hummed the sleeping passengers adrift, and the steady rise and fall of Martin’s chest fell along to its loose rhythm.

_Sunlight traced his nose and the tops of his cheek and lips like a carefully craved stone statue_

_He grazed his granite freckled skin_

_His curls felt as soft as a loose packed shore_

_Warmth filled his fingertips, quiet thrumming fluttered throughout his skin._

Absent mindedly Jon touched his fingers to his ear, his cheeks and then to his lips.

A silent breath caught in his throat.

Jon wanted nothing more than to close the gap between them, to hold Martin’s face between his hands, brushing fingers grazing the tips of his ears as he tucks the loose coils of sunlight behind Martin’s ears. Coming near to share a short breath, before tilting their heads into place to press warmth onto his lips. He longed to feel the weight of hands splayed against his chest, the touch of gold to his skin. To hear Martin’s sweet exhale, tender like violets and gentle on his lips.

Strings of light illuminated the small towns huddled together between the rolling hills, the faint yellow reflection passed through Martin’s glasses that sat unevenly across his face. If it weren’t for the unsteady drumming in his chest, Jon would’ve felt more inclined to readjust his glasses, but his fingers were too shaky and Jon was afraid that he’d accidently wake Martin up. 

Tomorrow the train will reach Perth, then both of them will have to board two other trains before taking the bus to the small village where they are staying at. There’s a train that leaves early in the morning and another leaving later in the afternoon, Jon thought that maybe they could walk around and find a café somewhere so they could get something proper to eat before they left next morning if they took the afternoon train.

Wistful pondering filled his head until sleep caught on, carrying him carefully through the night.

* * *

It was the sunlight that woke Jon up, its brightness painted his eyelids red and turned the world into a warm haze. Martin still hadn’t moved from the night before, although his glasses lay quietly against the extendable table in front of him, covered in a pile of sand. His hair was crusted with salt and bristled with grit, his face was rigid but his eyes remained gentle as they fell loosely against his cheeks, lips slightly tilted into a soft frown, hands cupped to his chest like a sleeping toddler. Jon couldn’t help but stare as Martin’s figure glowed from the beams that pressed through the cotton curtains.

Although they had arrived early in Perth the day had been busy, the traffic hummed from outside and shook the legs of the chairs they sat on. Their train had a delay, so they decided to eat croissants.

“Long black?”

“Oh yes, that would be me, thank you”

Between the passing of hands a cup and its saucer were placed on the table, with a napkin tucked lightly onto the side. Jon wasn’t sure if Martin even drank coffee, but the quaint café they sat in didn’t serve tea.

Jon wished he could get closer, to patch the gap between them with something other than the static that lingered around them like a tight inhaled breath. Taking off his glasses, and folding them together, Jon placed them carefully in his lap. Pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing his tired eyes he slid the warm mug over to Martin’s side of the table. The smooth ceramic glided over the surface with ease, before clinkering with a stop as it reached its destination. Dark swirls of brown spilt over the lip of the glass before being humbly caught by the saucer.

Martin didn’t take too much notice. He sat still and quiet as the coffee drew cold.

Patience is a virtue Jon mumbled to himself. Martin would come around soon he just needed time. After-all he did linger more in the lonely than himself. 

Jon slid a tip under the rim of the saucer. And the coffee remained solemn and untouched as they left.

* * *

The next two train trips passed like a blur. The rattle of the bus shook its passengers and made Jon’s teeth click in his mouth. Martin still sat still in the corner but at least they’d share a tired glance through the reflection of the window every now and then.

“Okay?” Jon’s voice came out low and soft, he knew he didn’t have to speak so quietly but it felt as if anything louder would tear the atmosphere around them.

The bus was almost empty, most of the passengers had already left hours ago. Business men trudging their suitcases and briefs, excited tourists and the few students who wore heavy backpacks against tired slumped shoulders. The ones that were left were sleeping, reading books or wearing headphones. Everybody kept to themselves so the bus remained still and that sat fine with Jon.

Martin glanced at their joined hands resting between them. And almost quizzically nodded, his matted hair dropped loosely against his forehead and over his eyes. Martin’s checks and lips were pinched red from the cold, and Jon wanted nothing more but to hold his face within his calloused hands.

“Do you mind if I-“

Scooting over the awkward gap of the bus seats Jon tucked himself onto Martin’s side, fitting his head onto the space between his shoulder and his neck. “No Martin, I don’t mind.”

Martin smelt like rock salt and sand, but his clothes smelt of straw and his fingers sat heavy but gentle in his tired grip like thick blades of grass. It was all too intimate to be sitting so close, to see another side of a person who he’s never quite fully known. Jon felt bereft, this was all so strange to him he’d never been held like this before. He felt as though he should apologize for being so near, for being able to see another side of Martin, for being so close that he could feel his slow breath against his skin. But perhaps that’s what it really was, the way that everything came together, so still so quiet but so endlessly raw and real.

Being so close to Martin made Jon feel awake and so conscious about everything. Like the way that his fingers felt against his own and how they fit within his grasp, his solid shoulders and how they carried his weight so easily, the way that Jon’s hands kept fluttering and how quiet thrumming filled his body with soft drumbeats.

Surely Martin felt this too, surely.

With their hands still intertwined Jon thought, how can he love somebody he barely even knows?

So all throughout the night they sat together in silence, and for the first time in a while it was the good kind of stillness.

**Author's Note:**

> That’s the first chapter! I hope you enjoyed (-: sorry if I dragged on to much! I like writing about mountains and stuff. Also I didn't proof read this so I hope there aren't any massive spelling mistakes or continuity problems 0-:
> 
> rereading this I definitely dragged on, sorry about that, I'd edit it but I'm picky and don't know what to remove, just keep in mind that ughh I can see my mistakes lol and don't worry it bothers me as much as it probably bothers you. 
> 
> Thanks for reading despite that (-:


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